


You Wear Self-Sabotage Like A Cheap Cologne

by Rokutagrl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Coming Out, Confessions, Futuristic, Internet Friends, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oikage Week, Oikawa's birthday, Summer Oikage Week 2019, Weddings, free theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 10:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20062549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokutagrl/pseuds/Rokutagrl
Summary: This should be his win. His proverbial ball in the court. The final nail on a long closed casket.It is, after all, the one who falls first who loses.But when Kageyama departs, the rush is nothing like the golden promise of victory. It is dark, vertiginous. The wind falling short on his sails. Shoulders sagging after a game played not quite well enough.Loss.It feels a lot like losing.A linear story line told in drabbles and short one-shots following the prompts of Oikage Week 2019.





	1. Will You Love Me Any Less If I Hurt You Any More

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Confessions/Misunderstandings/Coming Out

It’s supposed to feel like winning. **  
**

“I just wanted you to know,” Kageyama says. He won’t look Oikawa in the eyes, won’t look up from the ground. “That’s all." 

It is almost easy to write it off from Kageyama’s easy timbre, but Oikawa knows enough, can read the shake in his shoulders all the way down to the clench of his jaw. It’s in the time he spends staying, waiting. Out of hope, most likely.

And Oikawa waits, too. For his voice to find the words that he’d only dreamt of saying before, the polished decline he had practiced in foggy locker room mirrors, sounding the words out just for a taste of them on his lips.

This should be his win. His proverbial _ball in the court_. The final nail on a long closed casket. 

It is, after all, the one who falls first who loses. 

But when Kageyama departs, the rush is nothing like the golden promise of victory. It is dark, vertiginous. The wind falling short on his sails. Shoulders sagging after a game played not quite well enough.

_Loss._

It feels a lot like losing.


	2. Look On the Bright Side, If It Left A Scar Now You Have a Souvenir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Wedding

“Everybody thought I’d be the first to get married,” Oikawa sniffs. He taps his pen on the notebook. It’s already overrun by doodles more so than the figures he’s supposed to be recording. 

Iwaizumi chortles, meeting Oikawa’s eye before paying all his attention back to ripping open the envelope in his hand. “No they didn’t,” he tells Oikawa discourteously. “Kindaichi and his girlfriend are in for the fish." 

Oikawa takes down the names. "Where are they sitting?" 

"Table five, I think." 

Oikawa marks this down as well. "Don’t you think the caterer should be handling this?" 

"Maybe." 

To the side of the list of names is a small, chibi-like face that gives him a ghastly smirk. Oikawa runs his pen in long loops over it, let’s the ink bleed into the paper until there’s nothing to be seen. Iwaizumi will yell at him later when they learn that it’s marred the previous page of names, but it is a simple pleasure. Oikawa thrives on those.

"To be honest,” Iwaizumi starts. He pauses to rip open the next letter and finally says, “I used to think it would be you, before me." 

"Me too,” Oikawa says, dropping an affronted hand against his heart. He brings his hand up a second later and taps the capped end of the pen against his lips. “But you know it’s probably a crime to take someone as handsome as me off the market too soon.”

“Always thought you’d be divorced before 25." 

Oikawa frowns. He flings the pen in Iwazumi’s direction but it doesn’t even come close to hitting. It does not help Oikawa’s case when he reminds Iwaizumi of this, when his friend directs the pen right into his cheek. 

"Just take the orders,” Iwaizumi grumbles. 

Oikawa picks up the pen in his lap where it had dropped as Iwaizumi opens the next envelope. “So mean, Iwa-chan,” he complains under his breath, rubbing at the new sore spot on his cheek.

“Kageyama will have the steak. His date is put down for fish." 

The pen digs in, bleeds blue and Oikawa lets out the only breath in his chest to ask, "Tobio-chan?" 

"Of course.” Iwaizumi continues, “Put him at Table 4.”

Oikawa lifts the pen from the paper and more than bleeding through it’s ripped past the first layer, right to the other page. He wonders if it could bleed all the way through to the cover, if Oikawa let it. 

Iwaizumi sighs, “You ruined it." 

Oikawa stares at the stains and the tears and the names and the scribbles over a face he wishes he could forget. 

"I know.”


	3. Love is Just A Socially Acceptable Form of Masochism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Internet Friends

Maki clicks his tongue the second Oikawa’s hand dips into his jacket pocket. His disdain is as clear as the breath that leaves his lips when he tells Oikawa, “His profile isn’t suddenly going to be public.” 

Oikawa shoots him a glare. Snows drops off the fur lining of his hood. It’s so cold he’s almost surprised icicles haven’t formed along the edges yet.

“I’m checking the time,” he says defensively. He adds, pouting, “I have no idea what you’re talking about." 

He doesn’t miss the roll of Maki’s eyes. 

"Why don’t you just send him a friend request?" 

Oikawa’s shoes are filled with slush and it makes him cringe whenever he shuffles to find a new comfortable position to stand in. The snow only piles up higher. "Where’s Iwa-chan?”

Maki checks his own phone then unhelpfully supplies, “Late." 

Oikawa opens his phone again, clicking through the lock screen. A unflattering picture of Kageyama stares at him. It was taken in a gymnasium, looks like, from the rounded, metal lighting cut off over his head. Taken by an amateur, nothing editorial or doctored about it. The blur of the screen suggests the photographer was moving fast–perhaps getting away. 

An odd choice for a profile picture. 

But even unflattering for Kageyama is_striking_. 

Oikawa’s thumb hovers over the Request button and then drops away. 

"He’s the worst,” Oikawa sniffles. It’s from the cold. It’s definitely from the cold. “Iwa-chan,” he clarifies, clicking off his phone and pocketing it again. “He hasn’t texted me, either. Some nerve, when I deign to be here early." 

"I was early,” Maki corrects him. “You were five minutes late." 

Oikawa side-eyes him. "I was fashionably early." 

Maki snorts. 

They wait a little while longer in silence. Snowflakes fall heavily around them, coming down like already formed snowballs. 

Oikawa wonders if she’s ugly. He worries that she’s pretty, and athletic. That she says what she means and knows what she wants, if she makes Kageyama smile in that way that lights up his eyes more than it shows on his lips and isn’t petty enough to rile him up. 

She probably took the picture and it probably has some schmoopy caption because Oikawa’s always imagined Kageyama to be _like that_. 

Oikawa kicks at the snow and picks up his cell. 

"Can I see your phone?” Maki asks, holding out his hand. Oikawa stares. “Mine’s dying and I want to call Iwaizumi." 

"I can call Iwa-chan." 

"Yeah, but he’s more likely to pick up if he hears my voice on the voicemail." 

He’s not wrong. Oikawa keys in the code and closes his last window. He types in Iwaizumi’s number by heart and hands over the cell phone. 

Before Maki clicks the call button, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa turn the corner. 

"My, my, my~” Oikawa lilts. “Look what the cat dragged by." 

Matsukawa shrugs his shoulders, folding his hands into his jacket pocket. "Bus got stuck on the road behind a pile up.”

“We had to walk here, Shittykawa." 

"As long as you’re safe,” Maki says, handing Oikawa back his phone. “The tailor hasn’t gotten here either yet." 

Iwaizumi frowns, but it’s not too long after that the tailor does finally make it, apologetic and welcoming them in to his shop.

Oikawa sheds his coat on the nearest available rack. He grabs his phone from the pocket, slips it into his slacks, before pulling it out once more. He clicks past the lock screen and the feeling that surges through him is akin to getting a mountain of snow shoved down his shirt. 

_Request Sent_, now reads the button next to Kageyama’s adorably dumb mug. 

"Maki! You traitor!”


	4. If Honesty Were An Olympic Sport You’d Be Out of Shape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Oikawa's Birthday

“You’ve missed them,” Oikawa lilts, clicking off his phone and looking up. Their table is far enough off that the music blends into the night. “The bride and groom have run off early." **  
**

Kageyama shifts his feet, eyes focused on the half eaten globs of buttercream frosting and marzipan on Oikawa’s forgotten plate of cake. His suit is obviously a rental, Oikawa surmises. It just barely fits, too tight and too short on his arms. It is in no way tailored for him, no forethought put into it, and yet, somehow, he makes it look _divine_. 

"I know,” he tells Oikawa. “Iwaizumi told me I should come over and gloat because you couldn’t get a date." 

Maki snorts. Oikawa shares the strength of his glare between both men. 

"I think I’ll go dance,” Maki whistles, standing from his seat at the wedding party table. 

“I hope you fall!” Oikawa calls after him.

It’s almost a certainty. They had, after all, made a night out of watching every drunk slip on the puddles of the rented dance floor, souvenirs of the rain that had passed over them this morning, had almost forced the ceremony indoors. But it had cleared in time, given way to a rose and lavender sunset, and brought with it a mild night. 

Everything had been beautiful and simple, except where mud had caked into every part of Oikawa’s shoes. 

Kageyama moves around the square of the table and plops in to Maki’s now open seat. Oikawa glowers. 

“I didn’t come to gloat,” he says. It’s almost too quiet, almost swallowed under the song of crickets and jubilation. Kageyama’s ears are tinged pink. He hasn’t done anything to his hair and that’s just as well, because life is unfair enough and Oikawa can only take _so much. _

“Do you even know what that means?” Oikawa huffs. He picks up his fork and pushes parts of his half eaten cake around his plate. 

“I do,” Kageyama asserts, slumping further in the chair. 

One of the caterers walks by and asks Oikawa if he’s done. “Yes,” is his general answer to a specific question. 

“Why don’t you take your date dancing?” Oikawa asks. He reaches out for his last glass of champagne and gulps the entirety of it down, the bubbles since lost to oxygen. 

Kageyama opens his mouth, but there are no words. _Just as well. _

His date looks frantically back over her shoulder, at the two of them from Table 4. Her blonde hair’s in one of those elegantly messy buns and Oikawa knows he hasn’t had quite enough liquor yet to feel this sick. 

“We’re bad at dancing,” Kageyama says finally. The pink of his ears has grown darker, more red. 

Kageyama’s date catches Oikawa’s eye again, amber browns going impossibly wide before turning back to her own business. She is pretty. More than he imagined. Oikawa sticks his tongue out at the back of her head. 

“I could have gotten a date,” Oikawa puts in. He leans back in his chair. 

Kageyama’s stare could burn holes in the tablecloth. When one of the waitstaff comes by to collect Oikawa’s champagne flute, he asks instead they get him another.

“My standards are just too high,” Oikawa continues, airily. “Far too few can meet them.”

“You’re being rude,” Kageyama grumbles.

“How so?" 

His hand grabs a hold of Maki’s soiled napkin, as tight as one might if he were falling off a cliff. Kageyama says, "You turned me down, remember." 

"You moved on.” Oikawa says simply.

“That doesn’t–” Kageyama glowers. His pout is as adorable as it is dumb and Oikawa looks to the sky. 

Above them fairy lights buzz. Oikawa remembers helping string them around the edges of the venue, twirling them around various poles until the middles were taut. Their wires disappear into the night and look almost as if they are suspended by nothing. 

“I didn’t come over here for this,” Kageyama says through his teeth. 

“Then why are you here?" 

Kageyama pulls his phone out and looks at the time. Oikawa glances at it. His lock screen is a picture of a volleyball clearing over the net. Oikawa recognizes the gymnasium from their shared college team, knows the very sight of that blue sky from high, far away windows, watching the ball soar as if it might surpass the clouds themselves. 

He wonders blithely if Kageyama would have changed it, to something of him, or to them, if Oikawa had dated him instead. 

"It’s not time yet,” Kageyama says. 

Oikawa picks at his own phone, lets it clatter back on the table without opening it. His head feels messy. 

“What about your standards, Tobio-chan?” Oikawa asks, frowning at the dark screen. The waitstaff drops off his drink and Oikawa downs it before he can even leave with a demand for, “One more!" 

"What about me?” Kageyama asks, eyebrows knit.

“You,” Oikawa says, turning in his chair to poke Kageyama right on his broad chest, “won’t even accept my friend request. It’s been 7 months." 

Kageyama stares at him, confused, not quite understanding. His eyes seem to light up when he finally gets it, fairy lights catching in the corner of his dark blues, and yet they could very well drown in how brilliant and deep they look. 

Oikawa needs that other drink. 

"You-you sent me one?” Kageyama asks. He reaches quickly back for his phone and clicks it open.

Over his shoulder Oikawa watches him click through his lock screen. His background is a generic image of a volleyball. When he brings up his profile, Oikawa can see the grouping of requests, sitting stagnant in the top corner. Kageyama scrolls through the list, and clicks the blue Accept button next to Oikawa’s name with slightly shaking hands and—

That’s very endearing. Sickeningly endearing.

Not nearly as endearing as the long, wobbly grin on Kageyama’s lips. It feels like he could ascend. 

One of the girls from the bride’s party runs by for her coat, another to drop off her shoes, the both of them giggling their way back to the dance floor. 

When Oikawa checks his phone next, Kageyama’s profile is longer, but barely much more is available than before except for some additional photos. Oikawa closes his phone. He can look later, when Kageyama isn’t starring him down with bright, wondrous eyes. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Oikawa says. The tips of his ears feel hot and he looks down at the table. He doesn’t remember when the waitstaff left him a drink, but he doesn’t feel like touching it. His head feels like it’s spinning.

Kageyama breathes in, but whatever his response might be is cut off by the trill of his phone alarm. He stands up abruptly, Maki’s chair falling on it’s back in Kageyama’s haste. Oikawa jumps a little and Kageyama bows as he says, “Happy Birthday, Oikawa-san!" 

His face is red when he explains, "That’s what I came over to say." 

Oikawa can only stare. It is 12:01 am, July 20th, when he looks at his own phone and Kageyama is gone, still red in the face, stiff gait on his way back to his own seat. 

At Table 4 his date greets him with a beaming smile and a pat on the back. Kageyama shows her something on his phone and when she looks back at Oikawa, there is no jealousy, no pettiness. She simply smiles. 

He takes the champagne down like a shot. 

Maki swears to him that not another soul will ever know how long Oikawa cried that night in their hotel room. 


	5. You Should Make A Career Out of Building All These Walls Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Futur(e)istic

“Pick a color,” Maki instructs Oikawa, shoving four pointed paper edges towards his chin. Every corner is labeled with a different color, written in pen. **  
**

Oikawa scrunches his nose at the origami contraption. “Is this what you borrowed the paper for?" 

Maki pulls at the sides and the mouth of the paper widens to show more words in the center. He pulls it the other way and different words appear. They move too fast for Oikawa to properly read them. 

"It’s a chatterbox,” Maki says, matter of factly, as if it were the answer to Oikawa’s question. “Haven’t you ever played with one? It’ll tell your future." 

"No,” Oikawa sniffs. “It will be the future you made up." 

Maki pushes the paper even closer, his serious face almost comical. Oikawa crosses his leg. They’ve been waiting for almost an hour and his back feels sore from where the hotel chair refuses to give. 

"Blue,” Oikawa chooses finally. Maki’s lips pull up a little at the corner of his mouth as he counts out the number of letters in the word. He keeps the mouth of the fortune teller open to show Oikawa a series of animal names. “Gorilla." 

Maki tilts the mouth back towards himself and works on lifting the little flap inside open. Oikawa turns in his seat to watch the elevators, to check for a face of someone he recognizes. The lobby of the hotel is packed with phantoms of last night’s celebration, hobbling around on their rolling suitcases like crutches. 

"You would be happier if you weren’t stubborn,” Maki reads. Oikawa whips his head around to glare. Maki just shoves the chatterbox back under his nose, shut once more. There’s a shine in his brown eyes that Oikawa doesn’t trust. 

He rolls his own eyes. “Purple. Duck." 

"The answer to, ‘should I swallow my pride and ask him out?’ is yes." 

"No." 

Maki fidgets with the chatterbox and Oikawa still doesn’t see their friends. 

"Green,” he sighs. “Dog." 

Maki flips the panel up. "Mooning over someone you pushed away will just make you miserable." 

"You’re not telling my future,” Oikawa frowns. “You made an inedible fortune cookie." 

Maki smirks and flaps the paper at Oikawa again. 

"Fine. Yellow.” The paper whispers as Maki counts to six and holds it back up to Oikawa. “Cheetah." 

"Apologize for being an asshole and you’ll find yourself in good favor." 

"I hate you so much." 

"Choose a color." 

Oikawa breathes in. It’s shaky when he says, "Blue. Cat." 

This time Maki flips the paper around to show Oikawa the written words. He taps the specific phrase that screams: Ask! Him! Out!

Oikawa glowers. "It’s my birthday, Maki-chan." 

"Think of it as a present. To all of us. Including yourself." 

Oikawa picks non-existent lint off his chair. 

"A present to me would be sleeping in,” Iwaizumi says, shadowing over Oikawa’s chair, placing his hand on the crown of its head. He looks simple in a polo shirt and khakis, compared to when Oikawa had seen him all dressed up in a tuxedo just yesterday. Iwaizumi holds a hand to his head and Oikawa can only imagine the hangover chipping away at his sanity. 

“If Iwa-chan hadn’t booked his wedding the day before my birthday, we could have all slept in." 

Iwaizumi flicks him on the back of the head. "You know the venue was booked up every weekend this year." 

Oikawa hums. "It could have been next year." 

"Matsukawa’s at the car,” Iwaizumi ignores him, pointing at the entrance doors over his shoulder. “We should make it to the winery in time if we leave now.”

“Good ol’ hair of the dog,” Maki says dryly. He’s still playing with his chatterbox when he looks up at Oikawa on their way through the automatic doors. “Speaking of presents, I thought of something you might like." 

"Kageyama!” Iwaizumi calls, holding up his hand in a relaxed wave. 

“You did not,” Oikawa whispers, horrified. But Kageyama is already making his way over to meet them. Iwaizumi intercepts him halfway to Matsukawa and the car and shakes his hand briefly. 

Someone runs into Oikawa from behind. He barely tells them, “It’s fine,” before Maki shoulders him into moving. 

“Can I play?” Kageyama asks as they meet him halfway, pointing at the chatterbox Maki has yet to stop fiddling with. He watches it curiously as they walk to the car, absolutely gleeful every time Maki moves the pieces further apart and then back to center. It’s like a kid watching his first magic trick and it so _fucking endearing_Oikawa wishes someone would roll over his foot with their luggage next. 

“No,” Maki says, dryly, pocketing the contraption away. “This one only works for one person.”


	6. We’ve All Got Baggage Hun, But Yours Could Fill A Hotel Lobby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Free Theme

Bees have made a home in every corner of the winery, chasing the sweet scent of citrus notes and vinegar. Oikawa’s shoe sticks on the pavement outside, the noon sun drying out any liquor lost to the ground into a sticky layer of rogue. **  
**

Kageyama looks up at him, not even flinching as a bee zips past his nose. His cheeks have adopted the very same rogue that polka dots the walkway. Before Kageyama can say anything his throat rasps with a small cough. 

Oikawa plops to the cleanest path of cement beside him. The railing to his back sticks out at the bottom, digging into the bend of his back. Oikawa leans forward, drags his knees to his chest. 

“You’re supposed to taste,” Oikawa titters at him.

Kageyama sags back onto the railing. He looks to the sky and breathes in. Oikawa wonders if he’s sick, already buzzing with liquor in his veins. His eyes look like they’re swimming. 

“I _was_ tasting.”

Oikawa snorts. “Sounded more like you were choking." 

Kageyama glares at him. Oikawa thinks it’s more heated than the afternoon sun. He revels in the attention of it. After a while Kageyama tells him, "You should return to your party." 

Oikawa hums. "I should,” he agrees. He rests his head over both hands along his knees and strains his neck to watch the other man. “But Maki-chan is buying me an extra bottle to be here.”

The admission wins him no favor. 

“Why did you come?” Oikawa asks. 

“Maki invited me,” Kageyama says directly. He rolls his head against the wood behind him. Oikawa watches his surprise when his head hits into some of the negative space. “I can leave,” he offers a second later, whipping out his phone. Oikawa thinks of the pretty little blonde, how she probably wouldn’t make a big deal out of coming all the way here just to collect him. 

“You should change your lock screen to her,” he suggests.

“To who?" 

"Your girlfriend,” Oikawa coughs. When he puts his hand to the pavement it is warm and sticky and Oikawa grimaces. “Girls like that. It makes them feel important." 

Kageyama looks down at his phone. He clicks the side power button and Oikawa is greeted once again by the gymnasium windows, the same volleyball ascending towards the heavens above. Kageyama’s stare is intense, the hand holding up his phone, shaking. 

"This is important." 

"Oh?” Oikawa lifts an eyebrow. 

Kageyama holds the phone upwards, towards the sky. It almost looks as if he’s watching it soar before his eyes, just until the screen fades to black once more. “This was the first time Oikawa-san showed me his serve." 

"Begrudgingly,” Oikawa adds and then, “oh." 

Kageyama looks down at him. His lashes long under the bits of sun that slant down the sloping roof to their off-the-main-path hiding spot. Oikawa wonders if he’s drunk from just the few sips of wine he’d managed down. "I think you’ve been misunderstanding something,” Kageyama says. One of his legs kicks out in front of him. Under the sun his skin is golden, but Oikawa can see the farmer’s tan just under the flirting height of his gym shorts. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Especially not Yachi." 

And always direct, Kageyama tells him, just barely pink in the face, "I’m still in love with you, Oikawa-san." 

His eyes are soft when he says it, sends Oikawa’s muddled mind back to the first time he had said something like it– tight-fisted, direct. Ready. 

_Resigned_. 

It is too much, all at once, and Oikawa feels hot–would blame it on the sun if it just leaned further his way– and clambers to hide his face with his hands, in the shadow of his knees. He forgets the spilled wine clinging to his left hand until it has already touched his face. 

"Oikawa-san?” Kageyama calls. His fingers on Oikawa’s elbow could scorch him if he let them lay there too long. “Do you need a bag?" 

Oikawa breathes in. He holds out a single digit, asks Kageyama to wait. Something buzzes by his ear, too close for comfort, and Oikawa jumps away from it. Kageyama’s side is solid where it catches his weight and Oikawa isn’t sure what sets the tempo of his heart– near death, or Kageyama himself–but it’s enough to make him feel deflated, to sink in to the weight behind his shoulder.

"It’s a bee,” Kageyama says nonchalantly, as if that means nothing. Kageyama’s arm moves and he swats at the air as if he isn’t frightened at all. 

“I never rejected you, Tobio-chan.” Oikawa says on his next breath out. Kageyama stills, his arm still hanging in the air and Oikawa grabs for it, pulls it to his own side. His mouth opens, but nothing is said. Kageyama is warm, and toned, and Oikawa pushes on in his lack of response, “I wanted to. Dreamed of it." 

Orange flowers drape over the fence, droopy and eavesdropping. Oikawa sees them all the time, but he doesn’t know their name. 

He drops Kageyama’s arm, likes the weight of it where it drops on his side, and holds up his own invigorated fists. "I so wanted to see Tobio-chan’s crying face. Something like a sad puppy, you know?" 

"You’re so unbelievably twisted,” Kageyama comments. Oikawa isn’t sure if this is a bad thing. He can see the tenseness in Kageyama’s muscles, down to his hand. “So why didn’t you just reject me?" 

"I saw it,” Oikawa continues. “Your face.” His hands drop and he maneuvers himself around to look Kageyama right in the eyes. “And I didn’t like it.” He taps a sticky finger to the side of one of Kageyama’s eyes. “I think I like this better,” where Kageyama’s eyes are as bright as the afternoon sky, where Oikawa can see the traces of hope mingling between the clouds reflecting from above them. Kageyama bites his lip and Oikawa cannot stop himself if he even had the strength to try. 

He hooks his fingers along the round of Kageyama’s ears, beckons him closer with tapered fingers at his jaw, and smashes their mouths together. Kageyama’s darker hair soaks in the worst of the sun and Oikawa enjoys the soft warmth of it on his fingertips where they thread through every strand. 

Kageyama is simple. Oikawa knows this, loves this, is cut from that same cloth, and is not surprised that when he leans away, Kageyama follows, lips lingering even when Oikawa licks along his own. “Citrus notes,” he whispers in the lack of space between them, tittering. 

“Does this mean you like me back?” His cheek looks sticky, and patchy, where Oikawa’s fingers had touched him, had stained him, marked him.

Kageyama stares at him, eyes dark and drunk on something more than liquor, and Oikawa surges back forward. They’d stay like this, more than the afternoon, Oikawa is certain, if a bee hadn’t landed in his hair too soon. 

Kageyama smiles at him, just a touch shy, behind Maki’s back on the way home and this, he thinks, feels a lot like winning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _lays downs_ I'm so v proud I made it through days 2-7 even though the last one was late... Considering I planned nothing of this I'm just going to be happy it's somewhat cohesive (?) with an ending. It's small victories sometimes. Thank you for reading~


End file.
